Posts Tagged ‘love

6/3/11 – Im putting this on the home page b/c it’s too long for the Guest Page. And because I can. Because it’s my blog.

our 5th guest letter is a bit different. it’s 100% serious. and 100% awesome. this girl had me pretty close to tears. ill say no more. she wanted to remain anonymous so without further ado (ps its long. like, really long. but worth it).

T.

I find it a bit ironic that I’m writing you of all people a letter of gratitude after, you know, everything.

I still have so much negative energy toward you that it startles me to find myself thinking of you at random and I can feel my body tensing up palpably, a defense mechanism against even simple thoughts of you.

It wasn’t all bad, was it though? I could write at you for hours if I fixated on all the yuck, but I don’t let myself do that these days. Today I’m here to thank you. That’s all.

Yes, surprise should be your natural reaction.

Remember that night we walked around, side by side, next to the water? It was three am when we began, that second weekend up at the lake, before anyone had really made friends or moved in that summer. I had just gotten off a shift working the door at the bar. My head was swimming with love for this strange new place, my own daring to go through with it, and this life and the summer and all the people and their energy.

I was buzzed, my shift ended in a couple of Starry Nights and a Red Headed Slut. I hurried home under the stars to a promising group of new characters on the front porch. The kind you laugh with and look around at with glee before you realize they’re barely disguising how much they’ll ultimately want to crush you to feel bigger, brighter, more. But not then, then it was just so. A perfect storm to start the greatest summer. It was the greatest summer, wasn’t it?

Finally, everyone retired to their own rooms and new beds, so many still- unfamiliar names and faces swirling around in their heads. But we weren’t done, then. Just us. We walked for hours that night, literally. You had to work at eight that morning and we were just approaching the restaurant as it opened at seven. We strolled in and ate breakfast together like it was the most natural thing in the world. I had to work at 10:30 am, but by then I didn’t need sleep. I was electric. Completely lit with energy, my veins felt too full to hold my body. We dined, we laughed, across from each other, hours into a conversation that flowed so beautifully that I feel physically ill even now just thinking about the ease. Still strangers, but losing mystery by the minute. We finished eating and you went to work and I half-skipped back to my room in the dorm building, already smitten.

We never touched that night or morning, except when our arms collided briefly as we swatted our way through a cloud of gnats, somewhere amid hour three. Or maybe I shook your hand in introduction. I can’t remember if I was still in that phase.

There aren’t many nights or moments in my life that I would honestly label as perfection. They’re all scattered and rare and mostly fragments of bigger, bitter disappointments. But this night, this one was perfect.

We were perfect.

I wish we could have, would have, just stopped there, hanging frozen in time. I wish we’d never have met again. I don’t need the years of everything that went deeper and stole pieces of me and destroyed others, but I’d keep that night. Hell, I’ll keep it anyway. I’ll hold it deep in the depths, no matter the way things turned out.

Remember that night when you told me you loved me more than you could ever love yourself? That’s the fucking saddest thing anyone has ever said to me. It was all falling apart by then, anyway. But even more than starting to hate you for saying it, I hated and still hate myself for feeling the need for you to mean it as it started to seep in. Through all my cracks and little broken parts, eventually invading the whole and knocking me off course.

You may not love yourself, but you certainly never loved me either.

That’s not what this is about. I’m writing to thank you. There’s not really much I can honestly say I’m grateful for when it comes to you, but I do treasure the way we met, that perfect night.

Thank you, for being handsome and charming and for just talking to me. Thanks for not trying to get in my pants or making me feel awkward or embarrassed so you could take advantage. I’ve seen you do that so many times to so many people, preying on insecurity. But not that night. For whatever reason, you let me feel like I was the right girl with the right mind at the right time.

You’re just so goddamn handsome, it’s disarming. It was disarming.

I hope you’ve got everything you need. I hope someday you turn your head up to the sun and realize it’s always been there, just waiting for you to realize it. I hope you’re warm at night and that some girl finds a way to disarm you, but doesn’t abuse it like you do. I hope you wrap your giant, graceful fingers around her fingers and catch them in her hair. I hope you drown in her eyes the way I felt I couldn’t catch my breath looking into yours.

I hope you stop making promises, because you’ll never understand how a broken promise from your direction can cause the edges to crumble off an entire world.

I hope you never contact me again; because you know I’ll always tell you everything is going to be all right. It’s cruel. Remember those months of page upon page we typed to each other? I waited each time for yours with baited breath, devouring every punctuation mark and pronoun with my heart. I knew you didn’t love me then, but that didn’t stop me from loving you anyway. Us, playing at friends. We were never fucking friends. Thanks for helping me realize the difference between hiding behind words for comfort and actually wanting to build a genuine friendship with someone. It was the closest you ever came to needing me though, wasn’t it? A steady fix of reassurance in your darkest moments. I hope I never need anyone like that.

More than anything though, the stupid, silly, selfish, girl in me hopes you remember that one perfect night as vividly and as reverently as I do. I hope you keep it suspended over you like a mobile, or an umbrella. A reminder of how living cosily inside the exact right place at the exact right time feels. Those moments before we learned how to hurt each other and who could make it the deepest.

You always won.

By the way, thanks also for the wreck plate that last morning. Remember? You dumped me for the last time fifteen hours later. I thought you loved me then, that hurried-with-oversleep morning as you grabbed your phone and called in the order, just in the nick of time. You, always keeping me on my toes, in the dark, knocked on my ass.

And by ‘big 3′ I mean Paul Pierce, Ray Allen, and Kevin Garnett. I am not including Rajon Rondo in this letter because he was not an original member, and he will be a Boston Celtic for hopefully a long time to come…something I’m not sure I can say for the other three.

Sure, Pierce will remain in Boston and retire in the famed Green & White (in this day and age, it would be a miracle for him to play in one place his entire career), but how many years do his legs have left? There is a decent chance Ray Allen will opt out, and Ainge will dangle Garnett & his contract as trade bait. It’s not that these guys aren’t good anymore, it’s just that they are one season (and 6 minutes of a game 7) removed from being a true title contender.

And as a result I, and the entire city of Boston, must break up with you. It has been an amazing four year run though guys, and I’ll always remember it fondly. On top of that, based on this blog it has clearly been the longest relationship I’ve had to date. In a lot of ways it’s been similar to a real relationship: honeymoon period went amazingly well (title in year one), followed by a tenuous year two where things got a little bit stale (upset by Orlando in Round 2). I thought about breaking up with you then, but we managed to rebound in a big way in our third year together…perhaps it was the inclusion of some kinkiness in the bedroom (in this metaphor, we’ll equate that to Rondo turning into an MVP candidate), but whatever it was we nearly won another title last year. But then we held on too long; lets face it, all year we knew this was kind of over. We tried to make it work and see if we could get over the hump one last time…and failed.

Though I don’t wish any ill will upon you, I hope we can remain friends. However, should any of you play for another team (aka date another guy) I will boo and hiss you just like I do any ex. No, that’s not true…I’ll look at you and always be reminded of this moment, and be forever grateful.

I think it is kind of fitting that I give you a mother’s day shout out on this blog, given it is you that are constantly reminding me that I indeed only have ex-girlfriends, and nothing current. “Why don’t I have grandkids to spoil yet?” is a question you bellow out far too often. You want the honest answer…because I’m not done being spoiled yet I know you avoid trying to be a prototypical Jewish mother as much as possible, but you fail kind of miserably.

That being said, you are an amazing woman, wife & mother and I love that you are still a major part of my life. You provide me with some much needed backbone & strength that I’m not sure too many mothers do help provide. I am not going to get all superlative like and call you the “world’s best mom,” but you are certainly the best mother I could ever have hoped for.

Now, THAT being said, even though they say us guys end up with woman similar to their mom’s, I hope my future wife doesn’t nag me quite as much as you do!

I’m just going to come right out and say it, I love you. I love you even more in 2011 because there are basically two opening days – yesterday was the first day of regular season baseball, and today I get to watch the real reason I don’t have a girlfriend, the Boston Red Sox. I’m only half serious with that comment, I am nothing like Jimmy Fallon in that lame-ass movie “Fever Pitch.” In fact, I hate that movie. However, for the next 180 days, the Red Sox will play on 162 of them (and then hopefully hopefully another 15 or so in October). As a result, I don’t feel a pressing need to find someone to spend time with, because when all else fails, I can always spend my evening with the Boston ‘Boys of Summer.’

Listen, I am not some assclown that gets really excited about opening day and then fades as the season goes on. Are there times where I pay a bit less attention to all things baseball? Of course…while the Celtics & Bruins make their respective Championship runs later this Spring (that let’s face it, will probably end in failure), I’ll be concentrating more on them. But there will not be a single night I go to sleep, or morning I wake up if the Sox are on the West Coast, where I don’t know how the Red Sox fared…or pretty much any other team for that matter.

I love it, I effing love baseball. I woke up this morning trying to pinpoint what it is about the sport that I love so much. The intricacies of the game are amazing once you’ve learned them; the dedication (in many cases, over-dedication) of Boston Red Sox fans is inspiring given all the heartache we endured over the years – for example, I wasn’t even alive in 1978 and I still want to punch Bucky ‘bleeping’ Dent in the mouth. But I was a baseball fan long before the magical 2004 World Series run, and even long before players like Nomar & Pedro made the Red Sox actual contenders. Watching the Red Sox in the 90′s was about as exciting as my “Basics of Magic Course” freshman year of college (hey don’t judge, we all needed to take a religion course).

So, while all that’s well and good, it still doesn’t explain how my love affair with baseball started in the first place. Then I looked back to what I did yesterday to celebrate Opening Day & it dawned on me. I watched all three games that ESPN covered, and in between I watched the beginning, middle and end of “Field of Dreams.” At the end, as per usual, I shed a few tears. Simply put, I am pretty sure when I first saw this movie at the ripe old age of 8, I fell in love…and each subsequent time I view it (my guess is were are bordering on 50 or so), I fall a little deeper. So, that being I said I’d like to wish all fans of all teams the best of luck this coming season, just a little more to the Red Sox…and just remember, “This field, this game: it’s a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again”